


I Had This Crazy Idea (Somehow We’d Coast to the End)

by theshipsfirstmate



Series: So Now What [2]
Category: Arrow (TV 2012)
Genre: F/M, post s4 staying in star city, so now what series
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-05
Updated: 2016-06-05
Packaged: 2018-07-12 10:04:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,050
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7098322
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/theshipsfirstmate/pseuds/theshipsfirstmate
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>post-S4 finale Olicity. Felicity’s made a point of spending more time with Lyla and Sara, now that John’s gone. One night, she invites Oliver to join them. </p>
<p>"She’s never been someone who really pictured kids as part of her future. In fact, the only times she’s ever considered it previously have been when he’s looking at her just like that."</p>
            </blockquote>





	I Had This Crazy Idea (Somehow We’d Coast to the End)

_A/N: Also, make sure to check out the author’s note at the end, because it’s about exciting fic stuff. (!!!)_

 

**I Had This Crazy Idea (Somehow We’d Coast to the End)**

She still can’t cook.

For all that’s changed and all that’s happened in the last year, Felicity finds that small fact somewhat reassuring. At least, she does until she her stomach starts rumbling most nights, when she comes home from the bunker alone. Oliver doesn’t make a point of asking her if she’s eaten lunch like he used to. That’s not what they are anymore.

He was such a good cook. Still is, obviously. (The possibility of him cooking for someone else, even in the distant future, is something Felicity finds practically unfathomable. She’s probably got to get over that.) He was good at making things from recipes and he was even better at making something out of nothing. She’d see an empty fridge, and he’d see a florentine omelet.

_“Breakfast for dinner!” She had all but squealed the first time he cracked an egg for her, in the kitchen of their Ivy Town house that was still stacked high with moving boxes. It would have been embarrassing, except for that Oliver had had the same sappy grin plastered on his face since the early hours of the morning, when they had woken up before the sunlight to meet the moving trucks._

_“My mom and I used to do breakfast for dinner all the time,” Felicity admitted, unable to wipe the matching smile from her face. “It was my favorite.”_

_“Mine too.” Oliver’s expression dropped the moment the words left his mouth. “Actually, no. My favorite was Raisa’s beef stroganoff. Breakfast for dinner was Tommy’s favorite._

_“I used to pretend it was mine, though, so that we’d have it, and Tommy could stay,” he adds softly. “So he wouldn’t have to go home for a little while longer.”_

She remembers how she kissed him after that admission, soft and slow, cupping his face in her hands because, after all he’d been through, how could he not be delicate?

Felicity tells herself it’s the omelets she’s thinking of, not the man who made them for her – shirtless more often than not, by the way – when she breaks down and invites him one night, as they’re leaving the bunker after a fairly quiet patrol.

“So, Lyla and Sara are coming over to the loft for dinner, if you want to um, join us.”

There’s so much information laid into the question – that, as she looks back on it, wasn’t really a question at all – she gives him a few long moments to process what she’s told him, and what she’s asked.

“I didn’t know you were back at the loft.” Felicity breathes a tiny sigh of relief when he starts with an easy one.

“Yeah well, my mother was staying there, and it’s silly to have it sit empty,” she admits, because that much is the truth. “Plus, I…it wasn’t like I had really settled anywhere.”

He looks at her like he knows the feeling. It hadn’t been an easy decision, to move back into their old apartment, with the cobweb memories of their life together darkening the corners of the high ceiling. But it had been the practical choice after her mother left town with Quentin, especially because Felicity no longer had a CEO salary to continue paying for her suite at the Starling Grand.

Oliver drops his gaze to the floor then, looking almost sheepish as he shuffles his feet. “If it’s a girls’ night thing, I wouldn’t want to…”

“No, come on, not at all.” She almost surprises herself with how reluctant she is to give him an out. “I try to see them as often as I can, even if it’s just for coffee or something. And we’ve been trying to do dinner once a week, heroics-permitting, of course. Tonight’s my turn, and I’m sure they’d love to see you.”

He smiles at her like he understands what she’s doing, and her heart gives a little flutter of something close to hope. “I’d like that.”

“So, you’ll come?” she asks with a grin that’s wider than she planned. “Don’t worry, I’m not just asking so you’ll cook something…”

She’s not sure why she adds that last part, knowing he wasn’t assuming that, and also that it doesn’t matter either way. He loves cooking, especially cooking for her. He used to tell her all the time, and she could see in his eyes that he meant it.

He practically tells her all over again when his eyes soften with the same look and he offers, “I can, if you want.” Then, because her life is ten types of unfair, he adds on a breath, “Whatever you want.”

“I mean…” Maybe this was her plan all along. She doesn’t even know which side is up anymore. “I think we both know it’s a better plan than me trying to cook.”

He makes beef stroganoff, and Felicity tries not to read into it, just grins back when Oliver smiles, beatific and proud, as Sara scarfs down her portion quickly, despite Lyla’s apologetic warning about the toddler’s picky eating habits.

“If you didn’t already have the mayorship and extracurriculars on your plate, I’d offer you a gig in the A.R.G.U.S. kitchen on purely selfish motives.” Lyla breaks their spell, marveling in Oliver’s direction as she wipes brown gravy off the little girl’s face.

They’re keeping things light, they always do. Felicity knows better than to bring up Digg during their time together, unable to stomach way it makes Lyla’s face turn to stone and Sara’s eyes go wide. John’s little girl is old enough now to recognize his name, something Felicity had learned by accident when an absent mention led to a weepy meltdown in the Star City Diner as Sara tearfully asked after her “Daddy.”

So tonight they choose to ignore the elephant in the room, eating quietly with a side of shop talk and Sara’s happy gurgles. The only thing out of the ordinary is how Oliver keeps looking in her direction when he talks to Lyla about his ongoing search for a mayoral chief of staff. It’s the same look he’d given Felicity when he first told her about the trouble he was having finding a suitable candidate, almost like he expected her to do something about it.  

She excuses herself from that part of the conversation, offering to change Sara into her PJs and read her a book to get her started on the way to bedtime, another little tradition they’ve started over the last few weeks. Felicity forgets though, that this is all a first-time experience for Oliver, until the look he gives her when she glances up from Curious George makes her breath catch in her throat.

She’s never been someone who really pictured kids as part of her future. In fact, the only times she’s ever considered it previously have been when he’s looking at her just like that.

It’s a lot, piled on top of the longing that already aches deep in her chest. Almost everyone she loves has left – in rapid succession this time, rather than spaced out over years – and Felicity’s clinging tight to the few who remain. That includes Oliver, even if sometimes it still feels like he’s a million miles away.

He’s already on his feet when Lyla stands from the dinner table, slinging her diaper bag over one arm. “Hey I packed up some leftovers for you guys,” he pretends to remember, grabbing the Tupperware on the kitchen island. “Want me to carry them to your car?”

Felicity knows what he’s doing, and as she crosses to give Lyla a tight one-armed hug before handing over her bundle of a baby girl, she’s certain the other woman does too. Neither of them seem to have the strength to protest or even point it out, and in her heart, Felicity knows that really, she has to approve of any measure that offers extra protection to John’s girls in his absence. She owes that to her friend.

“The mobile safehouse is picking us up in five,” Lyla quips, with a smile that doesn’t quite reach her eyes. “One of the perks of temporarily being the A.R.G.U.S. director is that you don’t have to fly commercial, as it were.”

“Temporarily?” Felicity and Oliver both hook on the word.

“It seems the Department of Defense has some recently-raised concerns about my sudden status as a single parent,” the other woman explains. Felicity sucks in a breath that does nothing to ease the righteous rage that tightens in her chest. She looks to Oliver, and he’s got that look on his face again, like they’re in this together. But that’s not who they are anymore. Lyla continues, oblivious to the silent tension crackling between them, “Of course my relationship to a few key operatives on all different sides of the law probably doesn’t help matters either.”

“I’m so sorry, Lyla,” Felicity tells her, because what else is there to say?

“Not your fault,” the other woman tells her quickly, voice turning slightly acidic. “It’s somebody’s fault, but it’s not yours.”

“Let me at least walk you down to the lobby,” Oliver insists, slipping the diaper bag off her arm and ruffling Sara’s hair.

He turns back to Felicity before following them into the hallway, though. “I’ll come back up to uh, finish the dishes.” Normally, she’d protest immediately, because she’s always been a firm believer in “you cook, I clean.” (And Oliver knows that.) But suddenly, she wants so desperately to know that he’s coming back, she just nods stiffly.

* * *

Oliver’s mind starts racing the minute he sees Lyla and Sara secured in the A.R.G.U.S. vehicle. He thinks about John, he thinks about Felicity reading a book to his friend’s daughter like she’s done it a dozen times before, he thinks about barging back into the loft and either wrapping her in his arms or falling to his knees in front of her.

Everything whites out, though, when he opens the door to their old apartment and sees Felicity doubled over on the couch, shoulders shaking to the tempo of her silent sobs. He’s at her side in an instant, wrapping an arm around her shoulder almost unconsciously.

“I’m sorry, I’m fine.” Her voice cracks on the lie, sending a splinter to pierce his heart. “I just, it’s so hard to see them, with everything…”

He understands what she means. Looking into the eyes of John’s daughter had reminded him of the night his friend left, broke his heart all over again at the hopelessness he saw in the other man’s eyes.

“I miss Digg, and I miss Thea and I miss _Laurel_ and I miss my mom,” Felicity continues. “Being with Lyla and Sara, I just…I didn’t expect to miss her this much. I don’t think I’ve ever missed her this much.”

This is when he knows he has to tell her.

“Felicity, you should know, I…” Her eyes snap up and narrow as he nervously starts to explain, and he probably deserves that. “I set Quentin and Donna up at the house in Ivy Town.”

Her eyes go wide, but not wide enough, somehow. Maybe he deserves that, too.

“I’m sorry, I know I should have told you, I wanted to…” He’s halfway through his pre-planned apology when she says “I know” for the first time, but he doesn’t quite hear her. “Quentin asked me to wait.”

“Oliver, it’s fine.” She shifts beside him, looking almost uncomfortable. “I _know_.”

He drops his hand from her shoulder but she surprises him when she reaches for it, lacing her fingers through his. They do this now, he realizes, remembering the feeling of her hand in his the night they stood alone in the rubble that remained of the bunker. This is something that they’re allowing themselves to have. 

“My mom texted when they got there safe,” she admits, sounding only a little resigned. “It was a good idea.”

A good idea that he kept from her, he’s still extra sensitive to that implication. “I’m sorry.”

“It’s fine,” she says again. “It’s not the…” She cuts herself off, but he knows the end of that sentence, it makes the back of his throat taste acidic. _It’s not the same thing._ Not the same as lying to her about his son.

“I mean,” Felicity picks back up with a small, watery giggle that he doesn’t expect, “did you really think that Laura Hoffman wasn’t going to come charging right over to introduce herself?”

He squeezes her hand gratefully, huffing out a laugh that sounds close to human. “With a plate of those… ugh, what were they?”

“Oh the deviled eggs,” she recalls with a grimace. “Oh god. Remember how they were somehow super sweet?”

He does. Even the memory makes his stomach roll. “They were awful.”

“Oliver, you ate three of them right while she was standing there at the front door.”

“I didn’t want to be rude.” This time, they both laugh, genuine and full and loud and, for a second, it’s like it’s a year ago and they’re driving away from their troubles into the sunset.

“My mom also told me that uh, that Jake came by to say hi,” Felicity adds in a soft voice, though Oliver knows it’s anything but an afterthought.

His heart twists at the bittersweet memory of the boy that lived two doors down from them during their few months of idyllic suburban life. “He did?” Smart and sweet and soft-spoken, Jake had bonded with Oliver during their first Ivy Town neighborhood event, the cul-de-sac’s Fourth of July picnic. Over the course of their months there, the boy had become like his little shadow, and – according to Jake, with a whole-hearted endorsement from his sweet, struggling single mom – Oliver had become his very best friend in the whole world.

“Yeah, she said he was adorable, obviously,” Felicity tells him with a smile, which makes Oliver grin right back. 

“She told me he kept walking past the house, trying to get a look at them, then one day he just came right up to the door with his mom,” she continues. “He was so happy to find out that they knew ‘Ollie.’”

She meets his eyes and he knows that she’s calling up the same memory that came right to his mind when he thought of his unlikely buddy, who cried so hard when they told him they were leaving, Oliver had briefly considered leaving Star City to burn.

_“My mom has an uncle named Oliver,” the boy had told him, one summer night. “But everyone calls him Ollie. Uncle Ollie.”_

_The sun was beginning to set and they were shooting baskets in the driveway hoop Oliver had set up when he realized that there was always a middle school power struggle at the over-crowded neighborhood court. Felicity sat on the porch, contentedly tapping at her tablet as they played a variation on HORSE that allowed Jake to trounce Oliver more often than not._

_“Does anybody call you Ollie?”_

_Oliver hadn’t been expecting the question and the rebounding basketball knocked him in the chin when he turned to Felicity with wide eyes. She, of course, was already watching him._

_“My friends used to. And my sister still does,” he had told the boy after he recovered from the shock, swiping at his face and pretending it was sweat. The taste of copper filled his mouth, and he realized he had bitten down on his tongue. Still, for some reason it had been important to him to lean to Jake’s eye level. “You can if you want to.”_

_Jake just grinned, but the look Felicity had given him after that moment was burned into Oliver’s brain, which chose the strangest times to call it up in the months that followed. When the Hoffmans brought up preschools, when he knelt in front of her and the city with a ring in his hand, when he told her the truth about William, he remembered her face, looking at him like she never had before._

He sees just a flash of it in her gaze tonight and it’s almost too much. Being back in the apartment, cooking for her again, watching her with Sara, these things are dangerous to believe in. “I should go.”

He leans in to press a kiss to her temple, the most intimate goodbye he can think of that could still be passed off as innocuous. But Felicity steamrolls right over that plan when she turns her face in to nuzzle at his neck, the heated breath of her tired exhale setting his skin on fire.

“I’m sorry,” she murmurs, mouthing the words against his neck too lightly to be considered a kiss. “It’s just hard not to…I know that’s not what this is anymore.”

“No, it’s not,” he agrees, and her face is unreadable when he pulls back to look into her eyes. He sees a million things in her expression, but the knot that runs from his shoulders up the back of his neck loosens when he realizes that one of them is hope. “But maybe, someday, it’ll be something else.” **  
**

Oliver’s voice raises just slightly at the end of his sentence, and he lets out a bone-rattling exhale when Felicity nods, unconsciously answering the question neither of them are ready to ask yet. Their hands have gotten tangled up again, and when she looks down, he realizes he’s tracing around her empty ring finger.

_“Someday.”_

* * *

_A/N: So, while writing this installment, I totally spilled the beans to[@effie214](https://tmblr.co/mg9AdUwAhmQiiglXfvbBdTQ) about my idea to have Donna and Quentin move into the Ivy Town house, which led to a few solid hours of flailing about the idea of those two hearing all about Oliver and Felicity through the people they met in suburbia last summer. _

_Now, we’re dying to explore that and SmoaknLance and all the characters in the neighborhood through some one-shots (and maybe some tag fics? Effie? Pretty Please?). So, keep an eye out for the Neighborhood Watch ‘verse coming soon!_


End file.
